


Know Your Enemy

by obsessedwithlife73



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Conspiracy, Conspiracy Theories, F/M, Gen, One Piece SciFi and Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:38:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessedwithlife73/pseuds/obsessedwithlife73
Summary: Do you believe in second chances?What if there was a choice, die, or have another go, knowing that you're a ticking time-bomb?What if the reincarnated people, lived among us and didn't even know that they had lived before, until their time to pay for their second chance came again?What happens when the time comes for everyone to make a choice, make a stand, decide what they want from life, or death?





	1. Dependency

Chapter One - Dependency

As he sat there on the wet Sunday afternoon watching the late summer sunlight  
slowly descending to cast a glare on the Tv screen, meaning that he would soon have to get up and close the curtains to continue watching. 

George was an addict, but he was not hooked on any of the popular narcotics of the day such as crack or speed, he didn't even know  
what half of them were. He wasn't even dependent on any of the more traditional vices, like alcohol, tranquilizers or  
tobacco. What George was addicted to was far more soul destroying, far more life threatening, George was addicted to  
doing absolutely bugger all.

George's life was one struggle to avoid doing anything, and the avoidance had to be done with the minimum of effort,  
which often meant that George would end up doing a lot more than he should have done, simply because it was too  
much hassle to get out of it. On the outside George had a number of good friends took part in many different activities  
and had a good job, but this wasn't because he was an outgoing gregarious bloke who got on well with everyone, no it  
was because half the time George really could not be arsed to say no to anything or upset anyone.  
To sum up George’s life so far in one sentence, he was everyone’s third best friend.  
Anyway back to George’s problems, it was a Sunday afternoon and he was sitting watching Central Match Live, a classic  
of modern footballing times with his beloved Notts County away to Crewe, it was one of the few things he actually felt  
passionately about. He went to every home game without fail, but his fanaticism did not lead to away games, and  
typically every year he would toy with the idea of buying a season ticket, but after erming and aahing for a while  
would not bother, because it would mean that he was tied to the same seat number for an entire season, and one of  
the great things about the footy was being able to view a huge cross-section of the population in the crowd. Every  
home game he could guarantee he would be near someone mildly interesting. His biggest fear about buying a season  
ticket would be that he would end up spending the season next to a completely normal quiet person. Recently he and  
Ste, his footy mate had taken to sitting in the same section of the ground anyway, but that was only because there  
was a man who sat there who wore the most horrendous jet black wig. George had bet Ste a tenner that it would lift  
up if the wind got too strong, it hadn't yet but George was confident now that winter was closing in the time was near,  
for the dead hamster to fly.

The match ended with the score 1-2 to County, which would lift them to 5th from bottom and away from relegation  
worries, until they next lost at least. It was almost 5.00pm and he felt that he had better cook something for dinner, he  
didn't feel hungry, but liked to eat his meals at regular times. Meals were still something he didn't really understand, it  
was only recently he had moved out away from his parents to a flat nearer the centre of town and he was still  
struggling with a lot of things related to domestic life. The two most difficult to grasps were cooking meals and cleaning  
the flat. It was easy when he lived with his mum, she knew that she couldn't tidy his room, she always provided a  
varied menu and meal time was always timed to the precise moment he felt hungry.  
But now he lived on his own, again this was a direct result of his apathy; there was absolutely no pressure from his  
parents to move out, they would have been content for him to stay with them until he was fifty. He felt obliged to move  
out simply because everyone he knew had moved into their own place ages ago. The longer he stayed with his parents  
the more different from the "norm" he would become, until he would eventually be known by all the pensioners in the  
village as George, "the nice man who looks after his parents, and does shopping for people who can't get out much  
anymore."  
There were other reasons for him to move out, it was easier for him to stay late at work, because he didn't have to be  
back for dinner, which was always at 6.00pm on the dot, also now he was in his flat he could go out at night more  
without feeling guilty about coming home pissed at 4 o'clock in the morning. His parents never seriously complained  
but there used to express concern at the state he got himself into. Now he was free to make a complete arse of himself  
whenever he felt like it, which much to George's annoyance was probably less often than when he lived with his mum  
and dad.

George had found one of the main benefits of buying a flat was now he could join in with every one else when they  
started complaining about their lack of money. Before he had moved out he always had stacks of money building up in  
his bank account, and therefore had one less excuse than everyone for not going out when someone suggested a night  
out on the town. This meant that the promising night out with everyone from the office would normally end up being  
the three office alcoholics, the other two people who lived with their parents and him - crazy nights. Another reason for  
George moving out was that he liked the generic term "Bachelor" and now he had his own "Bachelor Pad". Bachelor  
Pad sounded loads better than "Sad bastard who still lived with his parents until recently, when he finally decided it was  
too much trouble to stay - pad"

As he stood over the cooker watching the sausages under the grill slowly going black on the top, he wondered if  
anyone had ever mastered the art of knowing when to put the toast in so that both the sausages and toast would be  
ready at the same time, without either getting burnt.


	2. Life's Big Drinker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George goes to the pub

George didn’t normally go the pub on Sunday, that was his night for ironing four shirts and a pair of trousers in front of   
"You’ve been Framed" and "MasterMind" ready for the next week ahead at work. If the truth be known George didn’t   
really go to his local at all, he usually avoided it at all costs and headed straight into Town. But tonight he was going   
out with his old school mates, who still lived in his parents village. The phone call had been Steve to say that they he   
would be over in 15 minutes, and to explain that he was driving to the pub, so he couldn’t drink. The reason he was   
driving was that Wendy (his wife) had to go to her parent’s house, so as he was already going out he could drive her   
there and pick up her on his way home.

Steve was picking up Barry on his way over, which was good news, because at least notoriously late arriving Barry   
would be there on time and at least two of them could get drunk.

George, Steve (or Ste as he was always known) and Barry (Baz) had been friends since junior school, Ste was a year   
older than Baz and George. The three had known each other since infant school, when Ste used to bully the two   
youngsters in the year below, it was only in the junior school that they became friends when George’s elder sister’s   
mate threatened "To rip Ste’s f**king head off" if the bullying continued in a lame attempt to get George’s sister to go   
the senior school disco. Ste stopped extracting dinner money from them and George’s sister went to the disco with   
George and Baz’s new idol.

Despite Ste’s one year head start, Baz was always the cleverest of the trio, and it was his idea to utilise the new   
friendship with Ste to go into the bullying business. So the three of them had a very profitable term, until they were   
eventually and inevitably caught.

Baz, being the cleverest, managed always to stay in the background away from any direct action and avoid detection,   
kept the profits safe for Ste and George. Letters were sent home explaining why they would be staying at school in   
detention for a month, and how they were exceptionally lucky to avoid suspension. Needless to say that the letters   
were intercepted before they reached their planned destination and both George and Ste’s parents were surprised at   
their son's sudden membership of the after school homework club. They were as shocked when after exactly one   
month they both grew tired of it and stopped going.

After this incident they remained friends and stayed on the straight and narrowish path with only the occasional black   
ice covered hairpin bend, mainly due to the discovery of cheap 1 litre bottles of Cider and the natural progression to   
local pubs, into the sixth form and beyond.

George was brought back to reality by the doorbell, it was Baz and Ste, George let them both in and led them into the   
living room whilst he tried to find his other shoe. After the initial friendly greeting of "Alright" it was Ste who began the   
conversation with his usual plea.  
"So are you two playing this week ? Eight o’clock on Thursday, we’ve got three including myself so far."  
"Yeah, all right, I’ll play, anyone pubbing it afterwards?" George enjoyed the weekly five a-side football matches, but   
infinitely preferred the post-match analysis of the game over a few pints.  
Baz was less committal "Erm, not sure, I think I’m in Birmingham on Thursday, but I should be back in time, can I let   
you know later in the week?"  
Ste was used to this brush off from Baz, and had already mentally put him on the team sheet.  
"O.K then, I’ll phone on Wednesday to confirm."  
George having found and put on both shoes and his coat was now itching to go to the pub and not to waste any more   
valuable drinking time. "Come on then, it’s your round Ste". Without giving Ste any time to reply George was out the   
room and heading for the door. Baz and Ste followed behind, with Ste reminding everyone that he actually bought the   
last round the last time they all went out together.

It was a cold night and they hurried the hundred yards or so to the local, "The Crown and Anchor", despite what he   
said earlier George was first in and first to the bar. "Two pints of Fosters and a coke, ice and lemon in the coke ta."  
It was a typical Sunday night at the pub, seven o’clock and there were three other people in the bar, two of which were   
sitting down eating a meal, the other was a regular standing staring at the Fruit Machine, occasionally putting another   
twenty in.

They made their way over to one of the many empty tables; they sat down in silence taking their first few sups of   
drink very seriously, even Ste with his coke. George was the first to put his drink on the table.  
"So what’s work like at the moment?" It wasn’t a question directed at anyone in specific, rather an open statement   
meant to trigger Ste and Baz into at conversation frenzy, and conversation was young and George hadn’t had enough   
beer to make him interesting and witty, yet...

Baz was the first to take the bait, "Awful, I’ve really got to get out of there soon, I walk out tomorrow straight into   
another job, with twice the pay and half the hours."  
"Yeah, well why don’t you then? You’ve been threatening to leave that place since you started, which must be over two   
years now, you must be on the longest notice period in living history." This exactly what George had hoped for, he lit   
the fuse and could take a step back, and observe Ste and Baz argue about who had the worst job, leaving him free to   
drink his first pint in relative peace occasionally adding his tuppence worth, without really needing to think too much.

After almost finishing his pint, George thought it was time for a different conversation topic, "Whose round is it, then?"  
Because Ste and Baz had been busy arguing about who worked the longest hours, for less money and for the shittiest   
boss, they had only just touched their drinks, and looked at George with disdain. Ste was the first to voice his concern   
over the future of George’s Liver.

"Christ on a bike, you’re thirsty aren’t you? You want to watch out, you’re getting too used to the old sauce."  
"Yeah, yeah, I always drink the first one quickly, then I slow down and everyone over takes me by the end of the   
second pint. Which reminds me, it’s still your fucking round?" There was an air of mild exasperation in George’s voice,   
which made Baz reach for his wallet and get up. George’s plan had worked.  
"O.K what do you what then? Same again?"  
Ste drank his coke down in one, slammed his glass on the table, let out a big sigh and asked for another coke. Even   
though he wasn’t drinking alcohol, the in-built male gene inside of him still made him competitive.  
George didn’t need to say anything, he just nodded at Baz, who went to bar via the fruit machine which was now   
itching to pay out.

Barry returned from the bar with two pints, a coke and five quid less that had been taken by the fruit machine. Ste and   
George were analysing this afternoons performance by County, Barry had no real interest in football except when   
England played, when he would go to the pub or a mate’s house, but then the emphasis was always more on beer and   
partying. He never really understood why George and Ste would go and sit outside for two hours on a February   
afternoon in sub-zero temperatures to watch a nil - nil draw between two second division teams, whose players had   
never even been on Match Of The Day with two thousand other people who had nowhere better to go.  
"So what about Jones’ first goal ? It was a touch of class, chipping the keeper from the corner of the area takes   
confidence."  
"Yeah, I reckon he’ll finish the season with over twenty goals"  
Barry didn’t join in the conversation he listened as the other two carried on the conversation, but he attention soon   
drifted off as he started to watch the couple who had just come in and gone to the bar.  
They were a young couple, probably girlfriend and boyfriend who had only been out a few times before, because they   
were still making an effort, both dressed smartly but at the same time deliberately casually as not to look like they had   
make too much of an effort. He was ordering the drinks, a pint of bitter and what appeared to be a Barcardi and coke,   
but Barry could be sure because he was watching them whilst at the same time appearing to be interested in the   
football talk by occasionally nodding and agreeing with whatever had just been said. Having ordered the couple made   
it a lot easier for him by moving to the table directly between George and Ste in Barry’s line of vision, so he could stare   
to his heart’s content without being recognised as not taking an active part in the team discussion.  
But even the lovers weren’t interesting Baz, because as he had suspected they were on one of their first few dates.   
Neither was speaking and all they did was look at the other, although never ever at the same time, as soon as one was   
caught looking at the other then they would look down at the table or into the distance, anyway the topic of   
conversation at his own table had changed.  
"So have you got Wendy to let off the hook for the weekend?"  
"Well it’s just that we’ve already agreed to do something that weekend, it’s our anniversary."  
Baz’s attention was grabbed, he and George were going on a drinking weekend in Blackpool and they had been trying   
to persuade Ste to join them since they dreamt up the idea. Both realised that there was no chance of Ste coming with   
them, because all his weekends were no spent with his beloved, and the best they could ever hope for, was the   
occasional night out, even rarer, an afternoon at the footy. It wasn’t even as if Ste and Wendy (or the entity known to   
Baz and George as Stendy) did anything important in the evenings or weekends. But from the two friends’ point of view   
it was just that Wendy was extremely jealous of them and resented any time that Ste spent away from her. They had   
tried to get around the problem by inviting Wendy out with them a few times, but she always kept an eye on Ste and   
made disapproving tutting noises if he had more than two pints or told a (in her opinion) rude joke. So after a few   
boring nights out, she started to make excuses and Baz and George stopped asking so hard.  
Baz had appointed himself travel agent for the weekend away, and had managed to get a couple of cheap rooms in a   
fairly decent hotel on the coast, cheap passes for the Pleasure Beach, and free entry to a dodgy night-club, so they   
would be sorted.

"We'll discuss it again after 5 a-side on wednesday, yeah, and Ste, tell Wendy  
we've got a couple of matches, so you can have an extended pass-out for the  
pub..." Barry smiled to himself at Ste's apparent domination by his  
girlfriend, but although he would never admit it, secretly he would have given anything to swap places with him.


	3. Walkies

Thomas was just about to leave his house, the house he had lived in for the last 43 years, all but the last three were spent there with his beloved wife Freda. They had moved in 6 months after getting married, when they had saved up enough from his job as a store-man at the local factory and her job as a dinner lady at the local school.

Freda has passed away 3 years ago, leaving Thomas all alone, except for Whiskey the Yorkshire Terrier, whom they had got when she was a puppy 4 years ago. They bought her when Apollo the Rottweiler had died aged 13 years, they thought a Yorkie was more fitting for a mature couple, but Thomas hankered after a big dog again, to keep little Whiskey company.

Thomas was off for his daily walk with Whiskey around the local streets of the village of Marshwick, they were a familiar site, him with his raincoat and flat-cap, no matter what the weather, and her with her tartan coat in winter. It was mid-summer so when they set off at 8pm, the sun was still shining making it a lovely night for a walk. He left his road, and turned left heading for the fields that lead down to the river. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed, when he looked round, there was no-one there, but it had put him on edge. He crossed the road, and climbed over the stile, with Whiskey opting to go straight under it. He stopped to catch his breath and watch a Kestrel hovering off in the distance, searching the roadside for its supper.

He set off again and walked across the field towards the river, but this time he noticed that two youths had followed him over the stile. He set off at a quicker pace, he wasn't too concerned, but he had seen these types on TV, the papers called them "Hoodies", but to Thomas they were just kids.

They were catching him up, so he decided the best thing to do was not to try and out-run them, but to stop and wait to see if they went past, he was probably being paranoid. He stopped and adjusted his shoelaces; the two lads approached him and stopped.  
"Alright Granddad, nice dog", hoodie number said half laughing.  
"Hello lads"  
"Have you got any fags on yer?"  
"Sorry lads, gave up years ago."  
Then the second lad stepped forward brandishing a kitchen knife, "Then we'll have your wallet and house keys please!"  
"Sorry lads, can't do that." Thomas said calmly.  
"Come on Granddad, wallet and keys, or you and the Dog get it!"

Thomas could see panic and anger in the lads eyes, they were new to this and could do anything, so he kept calm.  
"Sorry lads, I don’t have any money, I'm not giving you my keys, so walk away and we'll forget about it."  
"Last chance Granddad, hand it over now."  
Hoodie number 2 took another step closer, and pointed the knife at Thomas's stomach.  
Thomas relented, "OK, OK, here's my wallet" he put his hand into his inside coat pocket, and slowly drew it out holding a small revolver.  
Before either could react, he had shot the young man with the knife in the middle of the forehead; silently he fell to the floor.  
Before the other one had time to react he had fired a second shot into his thigh, he let out a scream as he dropped to the floor. Thomas walked over and bent down to the sobbing kid, and took a mobile phone out of his pocket. He dialled 999 and said just the word "police" to the operator on the other end of the line. Then holding the received away from his mouth he spoke to the youth.  
"Listen to me sonny, read this piece of paper to the policeman on the phone word for word and I'll let you live..."  
Thomas pulled a tattered piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to the lad, and then held the phone up to his mouth.  
The terrified youth looked down and started to read, his voice trembling with fear:

"I apologise to my parents, I apologise to my teachers at school, I apologise to the social workers, but most of all I apologise to the society that I have become a leech upon. I have no future, other than crime and destruction of other people’s lives. I thank the person who has just stopped me in my tracks, and has led me to repent and see the error of my ways. From this moment onward my life will change and I will only seek to do good to others."

Thomas pulled the phone away and switched it off, and throw it back to the lad. "Well done, lad, let's hope you mean it."  
"Yes, of course I mean it, just let me go now granddad! I've did everything you asked of me, you mad old bastard. Just let me go!"  
"Aah, just can't help yourself, can you lad, remember your manners, and always show respect to your elders and betters",  
Thomas lent over the lad, pulled his hood up over his head, and quickly fired a shot straight through his temple.

Thomas put the gun back into his inside pocket and carried on his walk.  
"Come on Whiskey, let's go and get some chips."


	4. Work Life Balance

**Chapter 4 - Work Life Balance**   
  


Thursday

George woke with a start when the alarm on his phone kicked in. He had selected a calming piece of music to slowly and gently wake him from his slumbers, at least that was plan, unfortunately the alarm also made the phone vibrate,so before even Sigur Ros had started to make the slightest of music, the phone woke him everyday with a BRRRRRRRR, BRRRRRRRRRRRR, BRRRRRRRRRR, which was irritating enough to make sure George has never heard the beautiful sounds designed to wake him gracefully from his dreams.

Which meant he woke up most mornings in a bad mood, which was made worst today by the fact he had a beer induced headache, it was Thursday, why did he ever go drinking on a Wednesday? He had to be at work in less than an hour.   
He forced his legs out from under the duvet and let them touch the carpet, which strangely was damp. It took a few seconds for this fact to travel from his feet to his brain, which then sounded the retreat all too late. He tried to find (dry) solid ground again, with success this time, and sat up on the side of the bed. Forcing his eyes open he struggled to focus on the area of wet carpet, and when his eyes did start to work, he realised it was an upturned bowl of cornflakes from last night, which he would deal with later. Hopping over it, he grabbed a towel from the floor and trudged off to the shower.

Five minutes later he came back into his bedroom, feeling marginally more awake and ready for the week ahead, until that is, he stepped in the pool of soggy cornflakes again. He dried himself off, picked the least crumpled shirt and trousers from the wardrobe, and threw the towel over the cornflakes to soak up the milk whilst he was at work. He was on the second week rotation of shirts, which meant he had to spray a little more Lynx on this week. He managed to make his seven shirts last for three weeks, which was how long he went before washing his work clothes. Each day as soon as he got home, he would meticulously hang his shirts up in the wardrobe, and give them a quick spray with Fabric freshener and Lynx, that way he didn't need to wash them until the third week's wear, at which point, even he couldn't attempt to wear them again. He had experimented with a four week cycle a couple of times, but the build up of sweat, Febreeze, and Lynx has proved to make him quite nauseous in the final days of the fourth week...

He made it into the kitchen with 20 minutes until he had to get his bus to work, so on went the kettle and he filled his mug/flask with two spoons of coffee, and four of sugar, and looked for a healthy breakfast... Which he didn't find. In his mind he wanted a large crispy bacon and sausage sandwich, or even a bowl of cornflakes, but he knew he didn't have any fresh food in the fridge, and the last of the milk and cornflakes would need to be sucked out of his bedroom carpet. So he opted for coffee, and filled his mug/flask and left. The mug/flask was one his parents best ever Christmas presents. His parents bought lots of generic Christmas and Birthday presents a few months before the events, and then proceeded to use Jedi mind tricks (or so they thought) to persuade the intended target that they really wanted the target's present. Such as on this occasion, they kept seeing the advert for the mug/flask on TV and mentioning it and telling George what a brilliant invention it was, so come Christmas day, he was actually genuinely excited by the mug/flask shaped present and left it until last to open.

Despite having a good amount of time to catch his bus, after buying a paper, and a toffee crisp for breakfast, and chatting with the newsagent about the weekend's football matches he still found himself running to catch it. As he sat down, he relaxed, safe in the knowledge, that he now had 15 minutes of peace and quiet before arriving at work. He opened his paper at the back and started to scan it, at which point the men banging away at his brain with pickaxes, trying to remove last nights alcohol, were joined by a tinny noise from the seat in front of him. It was coming from the over-sized headphones under the hood of a young girl. She sat motionless, and the only clue to George that she was female was that the hoody was pink. He found it impossible to concentrate with the constant tssk, tssk, tssk coming from her, so he looked around for another seat, but the only available ones were next to men, which to get up and move to one of those, would just be too weird, so he would have to tough it out. He couldn't focus on the newsprint, so he poured himself a quick coffee from his Mug/flask, each sip served to revive him a little, the caffeine starting to work it's magic.  
It was almost time to get off, so he surreptitiously shook the cup out onto the floor of the bus and screwed the mug/lid back on top of the Mug/flask and waiting for his stop, the constant tsssk, tssk, tssk of the headphones continuing in the background of his head.

He pressed the red stop button and got up from his seat in one movement and made for the front of the bus. At the exact same time, the girl in the seat in front also got and knocked George into the seat opposite, landing in the lap of another unhappy office worker, who let out a small surprised scream. George shot up and immediately apologised to the startled lady, as did the pink hooded girl, who had whipped off her headphones and pulled back her hood to reveal long blond hair. George was tongue tied, and really wanted to shout at someone, but couldn't really bring himself to argue with someone with long blond hair, and striking brown eyes, so all he could say was, "Oops, sorry! Are you both OK?", and then went very red. Both women replied that they were OK, and by now the bus had stopped, so George and the girl made their way off. At the bus stop, George had regained his composure, "Are you sure you're OK?". "Yeah, I'm fine, it was my fault, I'm a bit hungover from from last night still, and was plugged into my iPod trying to focus..." she replied. Before George knew what he was saying, out came the words, "If you fancy a bacon butty, and a strong coffee before work, I know a great greasy spoon cafe, perfect for a hangover." and before he could process what he had just said, she replied that she would love to have one, but was already late for work and was busy all day, but if he fancied a drink after work, then she could do with the hair of the dog. They exchanged names and phone numbers, and agreed to meet at 6pm in the "Old Ship" on the high street and went their separate ways. George went off to work, suddenly filled with a renewed sense of hope and happiness that today could well be a very good day.

That hope was dashed within about 5 minutes of arriving at work and sitting at his desk. His phone rang, it was his line manager, Chris Smith. "Hi George, can you pop through for a minute?", before he had time to think of an excuse, the phone went dead. George picked up his pad, and biro and trudged off across the open plan office, to an office in the corner. He knocked once, went in, and sat down.   
Chris Smith was mid-forties and had been at Innoxel for over 20 years, joining as a graduate trainee, straight out of university. He had made it to a regional manager through shear determination, patience and very little talent. All of his staff knew he was next to useless and resented him, and he, without exception hated and looked down on them all.  
"So George, what are you working on right now?"  
"Well, I'm working on the BioCell project you assigned last week, and after that it's my list of Helpdesk calls to get through"  
"OK, I thought you said that you would have finished BioCell by last the middle of last week, what's the problem?"  
"There is no problem, I would have finished by last week, but you gave me the urgent Doxette work, which had to be done as a priority."  
"Aah yes, yes I did, didn't I. Well get the BioCell done asap, and then I've got a little bit of work for FixingBit to do, and as an ongoing task, please try and get your Helpdesk calls down."  
"Ok, I will. Email me the FixingBit work, and I'll start straight after the BioCell stuff."   
"Just one more thing George, before you go. I gave Peter some work last week, which should have only taken a few hours, and he's still on it, please can you see what's going on, and give him a nudge. Let him know, that we're monitoring Internet usage. I don't want to have to be called in about it again."  
With that, George got up and left, without saying another word. He walked over to Pete's desk, so that it looked like he was going to pass the information on, but he wasn't paid enough to upset anyone... Pete was probably the same age as Chris, but looked more beaten down, which was probably because he had a wife, three kids, two dogs and a hefty mortgage to contend with. He had join Innoxel a couple of years ago, after the company he had previously worked at went bust. There were of couple of people in the office who had arrived at the same time, all of which had been desperate for a job, and Innoxel took advantage of this.

"Alright Pete, how was your weekend?"  
"It was alright, very quiet, I took the lads swimming on Saturday, then walked the dogs to the pub in the afternoon. On Sunday morning it was mainly the kid's homework, then dog walking to the pub again in the afternoon. By Sunday night I was knackered and ready for work again..."  
"Cool, anyway Pete, Chris was asking me about some work you were doing for him last week..."  
"Oh yeah, he wanted me to do some reports for a meeting he had, I thought he'd forgotten. I did them in about an hour, but am hanging on to them and will tell him that they were very complicated, he'll never know. has he got anything else for me to do? The cricket starts today, and I was hoping for a quiet day..." Pete (like most of the employees of Innoxel) genuinely tried to as little as humanly possible whilst at work, and had an arsenal of tools at his disposal to avoid work.

**Pete's list of job avoidance tactics**

  
1) Rebooting your computer. Fail-safe way to guarantee at least 30 minutes of downtime, possibly more if updates are to be installed.

2) Pretending to have sent something to the printer, walking over to the printer, waiting, then checking the paper, the toner, switching it off and on again, and then going back to actually print the document out.

3) The obvious one, natural breaks. These come hand-in-hand with coffee rounds, the more coffee you drink, the more natural breaks you can explain away. Taking a newspaper in with you is a definite giveaway, but with the advent of the smartphone this is much easier. Anything over 12-15 minutes gets hard to explain more than twice a day though. Some people tried irritable bowel syndrome which also goes hand in hand with too much coffee, but the top notch time wasters, always try to avoid anyone noticing, and it's better to go little and often to avoid raising any alarms with the management.

4) Most important. "Looking busy" This is an art form, you need to be either typing something that no-one of any authority would recognise as non-work, moving and resizing windows, or if you're really good, just staring at the screen. The most important thing is no matter what you're doing, you really have to look like you are concentrating on work. The occasional muttered swear word under your breath, the exasperation, the deep sigh, randomly banging the escape key in frustration are all tools of the expert work shirker, things that only come with years and years of dedication to work avoidance. Pete was a grand master.

 

"Not sure what else he's got to give you Pete, he just asked me about the reports. See you later"  
With that George made his way back to the shelter of his own desk, and started to move his windows around on the screen, until he could avoid working no longer. It was still three hours until lunchtime.

The rest of the morning's thoughts were with his drinks date tonight. He had already texted Baz and Ste to give them the good news, although obviously he had embellished the story just a little.

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Baz, Ste, chatted up hot girl on bus this morning. Caught her as she was about the fall over, and arranged to met her for a drink later. Did I mention she is well fit. Laters, losers. Geo.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To which he got several replies:  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Geo, did she fall over her guide dog, or her stick? LOL Baz  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Geo, Well done mate, how did she get her mobility aid on the bus? ;) Ste  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Seriously mate, it's your Mum isn't it. Baz  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Where are you meeting her tonight, Wendy and Me are out later with her mates,   
we could meet. Ste.

 

The last message was a disaster. He really didn't want any potential girlfriend to any of his mates on a first date. First dates were for acting like the type of man that you thought the girl would like, and not letting your mates tell her what you're actually like. That came later on in the relationship, when you have gradually given her little snippets of the real you, and let her slowly forget the gentleman that you were in those first few weeks together. So, that was the problem, did he avoid any contact with Ste and Wendy, until tomorrow, deliberately avoiding their regular haunts? Or did he agree to meet them later, and then decide, depending on how the night went? For the time being he decided to ignore any further texts from Ste.

The rest of the morning went slowly, the pain of the headache eased and George grew hungrier. As soon as the clock hit 12:30, he locked his computer and joined his colleagues filing out of the building, in search of fresh air and an hour away from their desks. George usually grabbed a sandwich from the local shop, but today he fancied a something more substantial, so he carried on down the street to "The Bistro", although it couldn't have really been further from a bistro if it tried. "The Bistro" consisted of a couple of tables in front of the service counter area, behind which stood a man and wife, both in their late 40's who looked like they had been born, raised and would die in front of their hot-plate. The aforementioned hot plate was used in frying a cornucopia of artery hardening delights, all of which permeated the air, and drew in passers by. George ordered a bacon, sausage and egg roll, and started to read yesterday's local paper on the counter. They was a story about someone found dead behind the bus depot, which he skimmed past, until his lunch was ready.

After lunch he felt much better, and buoyed up on yet more coffee, actually did some proper work for at least half an hour, until he was distracted by a commotion at the other end of the office. There was shouting coming from Chris's office, everyone else was craning their heads out of their workspaces to get a decent view, but they didn't have to for long, as Chris came crashing through the door of his office. He landed in a heap on the floor, whilst everyone watched on, mouths open, waiting to see who would come out of his office too. Chris looked around, "Someone help me up, now!" no-one moved. "I said, can someone help me up, now and get that madman out of the building!" Pointing to the open door, out emerged a man in his early 20's, George reckoned he was probably a bit younger than himself. George didn't know his name, as he worked over on the other side of the office, in a different part of the office. "It's alright, I'm not staying round here, this place sucks the life out of you. And you" he said pointing back at the floor to Chris, "are the biggest Twat in the building, everyone here absolutely fucking hates you!" With that, he steps toward Chris and took a well measured final kick right between his legs. Leaving Chris doubled up, pain searing up through the pit of his stomach and coughing up the blood from his missing tooth. He turned walked over to his desk, picked up his bag and strode out of the building, to the sound of a single person clapping slowly.   
George could not place who was clapping, but he had a feeling it came from Pete's desk.   
After a while, Chris slowly got up and limped back into his office, everyone in the office had now magically become very busy, and had their heads down, glaring intensely at their screens, typing away furiously, desperately not looking in Chris's direction. As soon as his office door closed behind him, a small quiet buzz crept around office, which grew and grew. Who was that? What did Chris do to upset him? Will Chris every be able to father kids? The next time anyone saw Chris, it was 4:30 on the dot, he walked out of his office, made for the nearest exit, without making eye contact with anyone at all, and left without saying a wood. Pete did say he saw a tear run down his cheek as he hurried past his desk, but George didn't believe him.

The rumour that had gathered the most momentum before he went, was that the bloke that punched Chris, had been with Innoxel only for about 6 months, and had been doing nothing but simple paperwork for Chris since he started, and this morning there was another huge stack of files on his desk waiting for him when he got in. He said that he was going to see him about it, because he wanted a bit more taxing work and that was the last anyone heard from him until he came out of Chris's office. The new talk of the office, was whether Chris would come back in tomorrow, and could he ever live down that moment, where he lay helpless on the floor, with not single person willing to come to his assistance...

With all this happening, George had almost completely forgotten about meeting Jo tonight after work, he had to meet her at 6, which meant he had to hang round at work for another hour, which was perfect, because he could get some overtime in, and no-one would ever question it, because the only person to ever question his overtime was Chris, and all George would have to do, is answer, "It was the day that that bloke walked out, you remember don't you?". Excellent, for the next hour George sat back, relaxed, surfed the internet and texted Ste, to say that he was meeting a girl tonight, but couldn't guarantee that they would see Wendy, because they might go bowling. This was a complete lie, George hated bowling, but he knew that if he gave Wendy that little snippet of information, then the most likely place she would be is the bowling alley, so he would be safe for the night.

At 5:50pm he got up and walked out, leaving the diehards still working, and gossiping about the days events with the arriving cleaners, who were trying to mop the blood stains off the carpet.


End file.
